


The Library

by SherlockTheDragon



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2019-10-10 23:40:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17435699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockTheDragon/pseuds/SherlockTheDragon
Summary: He did come back, after all.





	1. Chapter 1

It was late, too late, to be there. Already dawn had crept through the narrow library window, but that was hours ago and night had come again.

This was your favourite place, the library. It was empty, though. Of course it was empty, it always was. Not a soul was there except you and me, not a whisper uttered. We never spoke; just let our breath reverberate through the hollow halls of the ancient building.

Sometimes I would smoke. It was rare, but it reminded me of the past. Of my old life. It was gone, but I yearned for it.

Today, I smoked. Didn't know what it was, didn't care. Today, I wanted to remember.

So I was stolen away to the library just on the corner beside Tesco's, emptied of the undesirable people that were supposed to be there.

You were sitting there, of course, right where you always seem to be; just watching. Never speaking.

So I smoked. And I watched patiently as the smoke seemed to float to the rafters of the library, past the leather bound books, past the Dewey Decimal System you always despised. You never liked things that didn't make sense to you, did you?

I looked back; you were gone; I smoked. It could almost spell out words, the smoke. You always spared your words, used them to their full quality. You never stopped a sentence in the middle of it. Words were precious jewels. Shimmering, beautiful, never to be misused.

The grey fog moulded and shaped into letters, words, paragraphs. I could barely make out what they said before they changed. Patterns. Looks for patterns. You taught me that.

There were none, this is in my mess of a head. Your seat at the library table was empty, only a pile of leather bound pages.

The library was fading, now. You were gone, so was the library, but you spoke.

"John."

No. No not you. Your voice is deeper than that.

" _John_."

Mary. Of course it's Mary. Her blonde hair is so uniform, now. I found it different in the beginning, the way it was a mousy Brown at the bottom. It's drab now. You were never drab. You never could stay still. She's so uniform.

"Are you even listening to me?" She asks. No, Mary. Of course not. I'm never listening to you. Not anymore. Not since he left. But I must lie.

"Yes, dear. Please go on." I smile. You taught me that, playing a smile. You taught me most things.

She smiles back and starts ranting about a woman named Liserra and suddenly I'm back in the smoke filled library.

You're in a suit this time.

It's nice.


	2. Chapter 2

I thought he was gone. I thought he was dead. I knew he was dead. And here he is, dressed in suit and tie, looking at me as if he's amazed that I even exist. 

It's what I felt, at the beginning. When he came back. He was dead. I watched him die. I watched him fall. 

And yet here she is. 

Blonde hair, and blue eyes stand in front of me, an expecting expression on her face. Her eyes follow mine, and a grimace now overtakes whatever was previously mentioned.

She doesn't like him, and never has. 

"Finish, John." She whispers, hiding an embarrassed smile towards the audience. "Finish your vows." 

Oh. Of course. My vows. 

The audience thinks I'm caught up in her, he bunch of idiots. They think I've become choked up. Which is true, in a sense. 

"I promise to love you, and cherish you." I say. I watch as his face stays stoic, but his eyes are pained. You can't hide your eyes, you know. You were never able to hide your eyes. "And always be faithful to you." 

I keep talking, stating a memorised speech, almost like muscle memory. 

It means nothing anymore. 

And suddenly I'm back in the library. The one I hadn't visited in years. Not since I became engaged.

You're smoking this time, besides the red and white 'No Smoking' sign that I've always ignored. There are no words in the smoke this time, not anymore. Only yours. 

"Don't, John." His ever-telling eyes could have been reason enough to heed to him, if this was real. "Don't."

"Sherlock, I-

"There are things about her you don't realise, John. Dangerous things." His hand reaches my shoulder, an intimate and pedestrian touch all at once. "Don't." 

"I have to."

"Please."

"I have to." 

"John?" I make no mistake again, not this time. It's Mary. "Go ahead."

"I do." 

I watch you. Your eyes. I miss you, Sherlock. 

I loved you

And I bloody hate this wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this chapter!!! Just to be clear, it’s John narrating this. It’s a bit shorter than Chapter One, but I hope you like it!!


	3. Chapter 3

The telly was on, I knew that at least. That dreadful woman, the one I had thought I loved, stared as the poster family said something apparently hilarious. The 'studio audience' offered a laugh, and Mary did too. 

I suppose I did love her, when you were gone. Yes, I loved her. She comforted me, held me, let me hold her hand at Harry's funeral. Yes, I loved her. Not anymore, I suppose. 

I know Mary feels it, the strain that you put on our relationship. She feels the pull I feel when you're around. And when you're not around. 

The people in the telly laugh again, and Mary laughs again. It's nothing like your laugh. She'll never compare to you. 

I want to fall asleep. I'm tired. But she won't let me, I suppose. She'll sat I don't spend enough time with her since you came back. And I don't want to hear her ruin your name anymore. 

Memories are stupid. They're painful and idiotic and I hate them altogether. But I love them all the same. 

"This is a nice change of scenery." You whisper. It's dark and dreary and I can already feel your cold coming on. But I suppose it wouldn't be that bad, I suppose. When you're sick you sometimes crawl into my bed. 

"It's a jail cell." I raise an eyebrow, very confused. You hate to be arrested. It gets in the way. 

"I was being sarcastic, John. Do keep up." You say with the most hateful expression you can muster. But your eyes, they hold humour. You never could hide your eyes. 

We laugh until neither of us can breathe. You hold your stomach, then I notice. 

Your shirt is looser than it used to be. When did you last eat? I want to ask but I don't say a thing. I never say a thing. 

Not anymore. 

"I can't believe you talked me into that. It was illegal!" I shout, still smiling. You would have thought I wasn't angry if I wasn't smiling. 

"Only technically." You grin. You understand. Good. 

"Only tech- Sherlock one of these days I'm going to strangle you." 

"That, John, is very much illegal. You've passed the technical mark. You don't even know where the technical mark is by that point." 

"John." Mary says. "John, why did you laugh? The little boy just died." 

The jail cell is gone and so are you. No, Mary, why did you take him from me? I want him here. I need him here to get rid of you.

I don't hate you, Mary. I swear I don't. I want you to be happy, but not with me. Never with me. 

Not anymore. 

Not after you came back.

"Sorry, dear. I was thinking of an old friend." 

The excuse is acceptable. You turn back towards the telly. It's nearing midnight. I want to smile, but I don't, 

Not anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in a day because you’re lucky.


	4. Chapter 4

I'd never smoked, besides in the Library. I didn't know what it felt like, or tasted like, or if I even wanted to. But you did. All the time.

Once, you asked me if it bothered me. You were thinking and away from the world, and you just turned towards me and asked if your smoking bothered me. No, of course if doesn't, Sherlock. Nothing about you bothers me. I said no, of course. You turned back to whatever you were doing. I'm not even sure you heard me. I always wondered how could do that, you know. Just turn the world off like it didn't matter. I can't do that, but you did. All the time.

I don't know what led me to the gas station. But I was there holding a pack of Marlboro cigarettes just watching them. Those were your favourite kind, said they held a type of refined dignity you liked.

"Are you going to buy those?" I looked up, the voice brining me out of my trance. He was annoyed, like Mary always is. All the time. She stares and huffs the same way that I do not, her eyes full of malice and hate. She claims I desert her for you. I never say that she's wrong.

He asks again and I look at him again. I want him to stop. I want him to go away, and I don't want to hear his voice again. It's loud and nasally against almost silent filling station.

"Yes." I say, and put the red and white box on the counter. The scanner makes a beeping sound as it goes across, and I flinch on instinct. The pool, with all those bombs attached to me. You couldn't hear it, but I could. The beeps; small, incessant noises disturbing the cool splashing of the water.

It started out as one cigarette. I don't know how it got in my mouth, of why I even bought them. But I had them, and Mary hated me for it.

"When did you start smoking, John?" She asked. It was a curious face she had displayed, but her tone said otherwise. She didn't want to know when. She wanted to know why. I turned towards her and blew the grey fog at her as I spoke. 

"Just a few days ago." It was a lie, but the truest lie I ever told. You taught me how to lie, you know. You and your caring lark face that distracted those from your expressive eyes.

It was the first cigarette, and what was planned to be the last cigarette. It was only to remind me of you. But one turned into two, and two turned into a pack a week. It was on supposed to be one... I guess everyone needs something. And I need you.

I miss you, Sherlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am an American, I don’t know what kind of cigs are famous in the UK. Sorry for that.


	5. Chapter 5

You love Rosie, I’m sure you do. I bring her, sometimes, when I visit you and that dingy flat. 

You seem so sad, though, Sherlock. Don’t look sad, it makes me feel guilty. You know I can’t leave her, Sherlock. You know how people will talk. 

I can almost hear you, they do little else is what you say. You don’t care, Sherlock, but I do. You know I do. 

I remember when you taught me to dance, right here in this very flat. You’re busy with Rosie so I can stare at you and it not be too obvious. I remember you teaching me to dance. 

I remember your hand on my waist, and on my shoulder, experienced, while I fumbled around awkwardly just attempting to look like I had some idea what I was doing, but you saw, and you took my hands and placed them in their proper positions, and then we danced to the music that wasn’t there. 

I remember your breath on my ear, I do. You were humming a song I recognised, you must have played it once, on your violin. I wonder if you took classes on how to make a man regret everything with only a dance, Sherlock, because you seem to know how.

I remember after the song was finished we started swaying, just in each other’s arms, our feet staying on the floor. You stopped abruptly, and it scared me. No, it terrified me. I thought you were going to leave me in that room alone, and it was so cold in the flat that night because the boiler wasn’t working, and you were so, so warm. But no, you just pulled me tighter into an embrace, your gangly limbs wrapped all the way around me, and I swear I felt your lips on my neck. 

But it might have been my imagination. Yes, most likely, just hopeful imagination. But that’s almost worse, isn’t it, with me being a married man?

“You look deep in thought,” you say, and it startles me. Why do you have to do that, Sherlock. Why do you have to startle me so. Everything about you does that to me. “Either that, or you’ve found my stash under the couch cushion, and gave it a try.” 

Stash? Oh, your eyes. You chuckled. It’s a joke, Watson, only a joke. You put your hand on my arm to reassure me, it’s only a joke. Ha ha, Sherlock. I laugh along with you, it shouldn’t be this funny. This used to be a problem, and I don’t know if it is anymore. 

But since I’m only a guest today, and Mrs. Hudson is out with Mrs. Turner, you make my tea along with your coffee. And while you’re gone, in the long distance of the kitchen, I lift the cushions, and take a good look. Nothing’s there, of course. You’re too smart for that. Putting it, whatever your it is, is simply asking for Mycroft to come and invade. 

I wonder if Mycroft watches you as closely, now, that your heart isn’t in as much danger. Now that I’m gone. I’m starting to see the appeal, now, of Mycroft’s vow to himself. He’s set himself up for a life of being alone, but it must be better than being lonely. 

But no, I’m not really gone, and neither are you. You’re back now, with our steaming drinks, and I take mine with a polite thank you, you with a polite head nod. Don’t do that, Sherlock, don’t be polite, that’s not the way you are. Don’t be different just because you hurt. 

I suppose I’m one to talk, aren’t I. 

I eye the tea suspiciously, remembering another time you gave me this very drink. You laugh, and shake your head, that mop of curls on your head shaking with you. I sip the tea, still with one eyebrow raised, and try not to spit it out. 

Your tea making skills haven’t improved, but I’m sure you haven’t poisoned me again. I’m sure of it. I’m not an experiment this time, am I? You’re not just testing me, pushing my buttons, making me cry, are you? Please say no, please say you mean it. 

Please.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s been a while some pretty hard life happened so yeah but I’m good now


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John have some quality time in the sitting room.

You’re touching my hand. Why are you doing that, what did I do? Did I do anything? I don’t remember doing anything. Maybe that was it, maybe I didn’t do anything and you wanted me to pay attention to you. Ok, I’m listening now. Sorry, Sherlock. 

“-re you alright?”

Am I alright? I don’t remember you ever asking me that before. Oh, wait: yes, I do. I was scared and you wanted to assure me. Are you alright, John? There’s no hound, John. 

I know, Sherlock. I know. I didn’t then, but I know now. 

“I’m fine.” I’m not, though. I don’t thing you believe me, you eye my tea as if it offended you. Oh, I haven’t drunken it yet, it’s probably gone cold. I’ll drink it anyway, I’m not extremely picky. 

You eye me warily, now I know you don’t believe me. Are we going to have a row? Please let’s not, I just moved back in and I’m not all here yet. My mind is somewhere else, I can’t think. I don’t want to have a row. 

Oh, you’re really close. Why did I sit on the loveseat? I don’t remember. You’ve sat next to me, your knee is touching mine. My hand is cold, you stopped touching it. Put your hand back, Sherlock. No, don’t. I’m not sure I could handle it. 

Oh, you did it anyway, it’s my other hand, now, the one closest to you. 

Well, at least I’m not cold, anymore. Well, I suppose I was never cold, per say. Just a bit of poetic license. 

You know, when most people do this, they’re about to kiss. I suppose you don’t know that, I suppose you’re ignorant in that field. The implications of these gestures are foreign to you, aren’t they? You’re just concerned, that’s all. We’re just sitting here, watching the blank telly, holding hands.

We’re just sharing our seat, sharing our knees, sharing our hands. 

Can we share our lips? Or would that be too much? It probably would be. You’d probably push me away. Probably say I’m an idiot. That you never meant it that way. That I’m too sentimental. 

You probably wouldn’t talk to me, not really. Only when it was necessary. I’d probably be angry at you, probably get properly wasted in the pub. 

Probably. 

I hope not. 

Someone opens and closes the door, I hear kitten heels and the putter patter of tiny feet: Mrs. Hudson and Rosie in from their shopping. 

Will you let go? Or should I? I don’t want to, you do it. You don’t. So. I get up and help Mrs. Hudson bring in the shopping, I don’t turn back to see if you follow me. I hope you do. You won’t. 

You don’t.


End file.
